by Jen Talty
“He saves that for Darcie,” Jag said. “Did I tell you she’s living on a sailboat now?”
“That I didn’t know,” Callie said. “But it doesn’t surprise me. Darcie has always had a love for the sea. I’m actually shocked she’s not living the Yachtie lifestyle.”
“She’s close.” Ziggy laughed. “So, I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’ll both be there for dinner.” With that, Ziggy closed the door.
“You should go have dinner with your family,” Callie said.
“If I go, you’re coming with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why? Other than Ziggy, they all hate me for the way I left.”
He shook his head. “They resent me for not chasing after you.”
She stared at him for a long moment, holding his intense gaze. She’d dated him for months before he told his family. For the most part, they’d all been accepting of her and willing to keep their relationship quiet. Once he caught the Trinket Killer, then they’d be able to slowly let the world know about their love.
“If I go without you, they will think I’m being a dick as usual.”
“God forbid anyone think badly of you,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, though it was impossible while staring at a bunch of cold cases.
“I really only worry about what you think of me, but please, I want you to come, and I’m sure my family does too.”
“I’ll think about it. Now can we get back to this?”
“Absolutely,” he said, settling back down in the chair with his football, a couple of cookies, and a mug of coffee.
Callie reopened the file and started reading again, comparing the first mood ring crime scene to Renee’s. “On the surface, it’s hard to make the mood killer and Renee’s killer the same.”
“Why?”
“The weapon, for one.”
“The first kill might have been the trigger for everything else,” Jag said. “Whatever happened between our killer and the victim caused the unsub to snap. She kills and goes right into perfecting the kill the way she wished she’d done it the first time. And look at the pattern of how the victim was beaten.” Jag jumped to his feet and shuffled through a few of the papers before shoving some images in front of her face.
She inhaled sharply, trying not to hurl. She’d seen dead bodies before. She’d examined crime scene evidence. This was nothing new.
But it all took on new meaning now that the Trinket Killer had returned.
“There’s a distinct pattern in the stab wounds with Renee and Stephanie. They are similar with the bludgeon marks on vic number one with the mood rings. And come on, body presentation is all the same.”
“And different from all the other victims,” Callie said, holding up her hand, knowing he was going to go down a road they’d traveled way too many times, and it was starting to make her head hurt. “Thing is the killer had to know all her victims.”
“Why do you say that?” Jag flattened his hands on the desk and leaned over.
Methodically, she laid out all the victims, except for the ones that had been brutal. “Each one was murdered while waiting to meet someone.” She tapped victim number four. “According to the bartender that had last seen her, she was waiting for a friend that didn’t show up.” Callie lifted the picture of victim number seven. “According to eyewitnesses, she was waiting at a coffee shop for a friend. No one knows who that friend was. I bet if we go through all of these, we will find every single woman was waiting on a friend that happened to be a female that was new to their lives.”
“Just like Stephanie had a new girlfriend that we hadn’t met yet.” Jag let out a long breath. “But that sort of blows my theory because I thought the violence had to do with caring about the victim. I mean, I was thinking that if Renee had cheated a second time, her lover might be a jealous bitch or something. And since then has been killing women who are like Renee, and we both know how excited Stephanie was over this new woman.”
“She was very excited,” Callie said. “But the night she was murdered, she was desperate to talk to me. To us. And that’s always struck me as odd.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t just me she wanted to see. But she specifically said she needed to speak with you. She said I had to bring you.”
“Yeah. I remember the voicemail. But I’m not sure I’m following your train of thought here.”
“Stephanie was on her way to see us. She wasn’t going to meet ‘a friend.’”
“That then blows the theory we’ve been forming.”
She shook her head. “I believe our theory is still correct. The violence is out of anger. Our killer is mad as hell at the people they love the most. She kills them brutally. Beating them or stabbing them. Or both. Then they take the time to clean the body. Brush their hair, fix their makeup. Hell, even in Renee’s case, the killer tried to do something with the poor woman’s face.”
“Renee was found at her favorite beach.”
“My sister at her favorite park.”
“All right, so that gives us some questions to ask.”
“Some are already answered.” She pushed a piece of paper at him. “One of the victims’ siblings stated they found it strange that their sister was found by the community pool because she couldn’t swim but always wanted to learn.”
“Interesting.”
“I think the killer had to have at least known each woman for a minimum of a week before killing them. In some cases longer, especially the ones that were bi or gay.”
“Are you now thinking these are sexually motivated?” Jag asked.
“I don’t know. I think so, but maybe not in the way we think since she’s killing straight women as well.”
“They could have turned her down,” Jag said. “But that probably would have made her angry, increasing the violence.”
“There is one other thing that really jumped at me today, looking through all this stuff.”
“What’s that?”
“Armstrong.”
“What about her?”
“She looks an awful lot like the victims.” Callie shuffled through the papers and found the pictures of Leslie Armstrong taken over her years of service.
“What are you talking about? She was a brunette, and she was well into her fifties if not sixty when she killed herself.”
“She was fifty-eight,” Callie said. “And when she was in her thirties, she was a blonde.” Callie flashed the image in front of Jag. “She changed her hair color, it seems, about five years before the start of the Trinket Killers.”
“Jesus. She looks exactly like our…fuck, she looks like you.”
“Similar features, yes. And she tampered with evidence on an investigation where women who looked like her were being murdered. What do you make of that?” she asked.
He leaned over and planted a wet kiss on her lips. “You’re a fucking genius.”
“All I did was raise more questions than answers.” She slumped in the chair, exhausted.
“You made connections and gave us lots of rocks to look under. I’m going to go call Matt. Why don’t you go jump in the shower? I want to be on the five o’clock ferry to my folks.”
She dropped her head to the desk with a thud. “I’m only going because…because…” Why the hell was she going?
“Because you love me,” he said.
She waved her hand in defeat. “Whatever you say.” It was the truth, but again, the words would not be allowed to flow between her lips.
That would make it too real, and she’d never leave.
She had to leave.
Too many bad things happened in Seattle.
Jag hopped up on the kitchen counter and took a long swig of his beer. “How long are you here for?”
“Just a few days,” his brother Troy said. Troy was a fighter pilot for the Navy, currently stationed at Pearl Harbor. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get here.”
“Mom and Dad were sure shocked to see
you,” Jag said. “You need a place to crash?”
“Nah. I’ll stay with the folks. Besides, Ziggy says you and Callie are all cozy again.”
Jag tipped back his head, taking another sip of his beverage.
“You’re not denying it.”
Jag chuckled. “Cozy might be one way to describe it, but she plans on leaving as soon as she’s done with her book.”
“If that’s the case, why the fuck are you letting her stay with you, much less share your bed?”
“It’s complicated,” Jag admitted.
“One of the many reasons why this sailor is never going to fall in love.” Troy pulled open the fridge and pulled out a plate of leftovers. He was the third kid in the family, about two years younger than Ziggy. When Jag had been a senior in high school, Troy had been a freshman, and it had been frustrating as hell to have his baby brother make the varsity football team.
And then be a starter.
But they’d gone to states that year and won, and honestly, they couldn’t have done it without the dynamic duo of Jag in the quarterback position and Troy as the main receiver.
Jag shouldn’t feel so proud that his high school couldn’t make it to states again for many years, but he did, just a little.
“Love isn’t such a bad thing,” Jag said.
“I’m sure it’s not. I just don’t have time for it, or all the bullshit that comes with it, especially in my career.” He waved a chicken wing in the air. “Do you remember my buddy Alister?”
“You were his best man a couple of years ago.”
“Yup. And he’s getting divorced. Fucking sucks. Bitch wife of his cheated. I never liked her.” Troy tore off a big chunk of chicken between his teeth. “But Callie, she’s something special. I have to admit when I heard she was back, it made me smile, but not if she’s going to break your heart again, especially over a tell-all book that makes you look incompetent.”
“She didn’t break it. I did,” Jag corrected his little brother. “And for the record, I’ve read the draft. It actually puts me in a pretty good light, considering how I did fuck up the investigation.”
Troy jumped up on the counter and shoved the plate of food between them. When they’d been growing up, they spent a lot of time in this kitchen, sitting on this very counter in the middle of the night, discussing anything and everything. They both cried over girls and fought over football. Despite the four-year age difference, Troy had always been one of his best friends, even if they acted like they hated each other half the time.
“No matter what anyone said about her when she first left, you always defended her,” Troy said.
“She was in pain when she left. Other than me, her sister was all she had, and she had to blame someone. I made it real easy for her since I blamed myself.” Jag tossed a chicken bone on the plate. “After she flipped out at the crime scene, I had to take her home. She cried in my arms for hours. We talked the next morning, and when I left, I said something so stupid that I knew right then I’d lost her.”
“What did you say?”
“I think my exact words were something like, ‘Stop playing Nancy Drew. You’re not helping the situation. If anything, you’re getting in my way.’”
“Fuck, dude. You might as well have dumped her.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing his throbbing temples. “I’ve never told anyone but the department shrink that before. If Mom knew she’d—”
“Have your fucking head?” his mother’s voice rang out behind him.
He jumped right off the counter.
“You too, Troy. Off. Now.” His mother poked Troy in the back with her long manicured fingernail. Henrietta Bowie was one tough cookie, and she didn’t take shit from anyone, especially her kids. She ran a tight ship and demanded respect.
“Yes, ma’am,” Troy said.
“Sorry, Mom.” Jag wiped his fingers on a paper towel.
“For what? Putting your tushy on my counter or being a dickhead when it comes to the best thing that has ever happened to you?”
“Both,” he admitted.
“Good.” His mother patted his cheek with her palm. “Now tell me, what are you doing to get her back? Because if she walks out of our lives again, this mama bear isn’t going to be so happy. And no one likes it when I’m miserable.”
“I’m working on it,” Jag said. “I hope the rest of this family isn’t scaring her off. You all are part of the reason we kept our relationship a secret in the first place.”
His mother laughed. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“I’m with Mom on this one,” Troy said, still waving around a chicken wing. The man never stopped eating. “It started off as a booty call.”
“Troy Markus Bowie. Don’t you dare refer to that amazing young woman as a booty call.”
“But that’s what she started out as.” Troy tossed his hands to the sides.
“I’d prefer to think of it as Jag being her whatever call.”
Jag laughed. “She did call me the first few times.”
His mother smacked the backside of his head. Didn’t stop him from laughing. While his parents raised him to be respectful, their family, when alone, had no filter.
And Mom was the worst.
“Let’s forget the past,” his mother said. “And tell me what your plan is.”
“Oh, Mom. I can’t tell you that,” Jag said with a wicked grin.
His mother narrowed her eyes. “I already know she’s sleeping in your bed, so that’s a start, but satisfying a woman in the sack isn’t going to keep her forever. That’s just the icing on the cake.”
Troy snagged another beer. “That’s my cue to leave.”
“Mine too,” Jag said.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His mom gave him a good shove in the back. “Take a seat at the table.” She poured herself a glass of white wine and handed him another beer.
“Mom. I love you. But I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t need help with my love life.”
“Do you really want to reconcile?” She reached across the table and took him by the hand. “And I mean a long-term reconciliation as in give her the ring back?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “She doesn’t know I found it, so please don’t say anything.”
“I won’t. Now answer my question.”
“You’re worse than me in an interrogation room.”
His mother smiled like she’d just won the lottery.
He let out a long breath. “Yes. I want her back in a forever way.”
“Have you told her how you feel?”
“She knows I still love her, and yes, she still loves me.” He held up his hand when his mother started to smile. “But she doesn’t think we have a chance in hell and plans on leaving in a couple of weeks.”
“I see. So what are you doing, besides assuming sex solves everything?”
“I’m listening to her, something I didn’t do last year when it came to her instincts about certain things.”
His mother nodded. “The murder out on the island today. Why is she looking into…” His mom’s words trailed off as her eyes went wide. “You don’t believe that the Trinket Killer is back, do you?”
“I can’t talk about that with you.”
“That’s cop speak for yes.”
“It’s not a yes.” He lowered his gaze. “But it’s not a no either.”
“Understood,” his mother said. “But that scares me, especially with her being back. Stephanie, outside of you, was her entire world.”
“I know. And I let them both down.” Thick emotion clung to his throat, making it difficult to swallow. “I’m doing everything I can think of to make it up to her and show her that I’ve changed. That I’m not the same arrogant asshole that belittled her theories and lied to her.”
“Now, you I know I love that girl. And I want the two of you to work this out. But has she changed?”
He nodded. “But she’s jaded, and she’s built a wall around her so high t
hat it’s going to take some doing on my part to knock it down, and the clock is ticking.”
“You said she’s staying until she finishes the book. But if this thing you can’t talk about is connected, won’t that change the time she will need to complete the project?”
“It might. But that could also cause a new rift. Right now, I’m giving her full disclosure, which could get me fired. The thing is I’m not doing it to get her back. I’m doing it because she’s smarter than me, and she’s onto something, and I need her help.”
“So tell her that.”
“I plan on it, but the timing has to be just right.” He lifted his mom’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m not going to let her go this time without a fight.”
Chapter 12
Callie took off her computer glasses and set them aside. She lifted her laptop off her legs and put it on the coffee table. Her gaze shifted between city hall and Puget Sound. The edge of the sun kissed the mountains, and the sky exploded into a swarm of purples, oranges, pinks, and reds dancing over the ripples of the water.
“What a view,” she whispered. She could get used to island life, especially in this little gem of a house with a master suite that had the best little porch ever. There were no homes behind Jag’s, so he didn’t block anyone else’s view of the sound.
She picked up her cell. It was close to four in the afternoon. Jag had left for the office at six. He’d texted her a few times and told her he’d probably make it back by five or five thirty. Not that she was a needy woman and made any kind of demands on any man she’d ever dated.
But she was going stir-crazy and cross-eyed between writing and research.
Callie: How’s work?
Instead of staring at the phone waiting for the bubbles to pop up, she dropped her head back and sucked in a deep breath. For some reason, the air on the islands in Puget Sound had a denseness to it. It wasn’t harsh, like trying to take a deep breath near a smoke-filled city. It was more like the salt and fog clashing together making a thicker, fresher air that expanded her lungs in a way that no other place could.